


Time that remains

by saboten



Category: Gintama
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 21:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4035040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saboten/pseuds/saboten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s dust in her hiding place, and Ayame reads that as an insult. Sure, she hasn’t been in the closet at Yorozuya’s for weeks, but that’s no reason to get sloppy at hospitality. Shinpachi could at least clean the place properly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time that remains

**Author's Note:**

> This was sparked by the many shots of Ayame’s quiet concern for Zenzou during and after the Shogun Assassination Arc. Here are also lots of headcanons.

After that meeting at the riverside with Momochi-san she’s seen Zenzou one more time, when she ran into him at the hospital for check-up.

He pushed her away, quickly.

When their injuries have been fresh and both of them hospitalized, they’ve spent most of their time together. They’ve rarely talked the incident though, instead seeking the simple comfort in the company of a friend. Of someone who understands because they’ve been through the same hell.

But like a cat, the moment he’s been able to stand on his own again, he doesn’t let her see him licking his wounds any longer.

Her days are long and boring, with too many opportunities to think. His words bounce around her head and fill the voids of her mind. _I couldn’t protect a thing and couldn’t change a thing._ Her heart aches for him, for all that he’s desperately tried to protect and lost despite all of his efforts.

But she’s hurting too. He wasn’t the only one to lose a friend.

He probably doesn’t want to see her right now, and she accepts it by keeping the distance he’s coating himself in.

Zenzou always has been better at giving than taking.

*

She meets up with Tsukuyo for a coffee in Kabuki-cho two weeks later. Her wounds are mostly healed, and she feels strong enough to get out of her house. Probably needs the change of scene as well.

Ayame is the first to arrive and lets the waitress guide her to a free table. Tsukuyo turns up shortly after. They order, and it’s only when Tsukuyo brings out her pipe she notices the absence of an ashtray. “Sorry, I didn’t realize it’s the non-smoking section. We could get another table.”

Tsukuyo returns her utensils into the pocket in her sleeve. “It’s fine, don’t worry. So,” she adds with concern in her eyes, “how are you doing?”

“It’s been worse.” Tsukuyo has already seen her before, when she visited Ayame in the hospital. “The scratches and bruises are gone. Some new scars. Only the big one remains, but it’s healing.” Her hand wanders to a spot just below her ribcage, gently caressing through her clothes. It’s the only one still in bandages.

“You look better. This is good.” Tsukuyo’s gaze softens. “I have something for you,” she says and hands her a brown envelope. “I thought you didn’t get the chance to pick it up while resting with your injuries, so I bought them for you. It’s not like it’s a big deal, with the shop right at hand and all.” A small flush creeps on her face while she watches Ayame look inside. Two copies of _Maso Weekly_.

Before Ayame can offer her gratitude, Tsukuyo quickly shoves another small paper bag towards her. It’s suspiciously unsuspicious, in the same discreet color as the envelope. “This is from Hinowa. Just... Just don’t open it here, okay?” She fidgets with her cup.

“Thank you, Tsukki.” Ayame takes a moment to read the Get-Well-Soon-card attached to the bag, and despite Tsukuyo’s protests decides to at least peek inside the gift. A small tube of lube greets her, and some loose papers that seem to be coupons. It is unexpected, but thoughtful of Hinowa. Thus far she’s only exchanged polite formalities once or twice with that woman, but this is a nice gesture. It almost feels like a blessing from the heavens to Ayame, Hinowa showing her genuine appreciation for her friendship with Tsukuyo.

She smiles, maybe a bit wickedly. It’s one of the great ironies that a person like Tsukuyo lived in Yoshiwara and still is able to remain rather... innocent in regards of these matters. All the more she is moved by the lengths Tsukuyo is willing to go for her. (It’s amusing to see her get flustered, too, but Ayame doesn’t let her in on this.) And who would have thought that of all the things it’s the two of them to become close. “Tell Hinowa my thanks as well. I will come around personally when I find the time.”

“It’s on the house, you know,” Tsukuyo manages between sips of too hot coffee. Now that the worst part is over, she starts to relax again. “Hinowa would prefer it if you’re fully healed. Me too. Don’t strain yourself.”

“I won’t.”

Tsukuyo raises an eyebrow at that but still mirrors her smile.

This is... nice. Sitting here in the cafe, talking. It’s normal. That’s what Ayame has longed to return to on that day. Normal has seemed so far away. But somehow, at the edges, it appears hollow with the price that they had to pay for it.

Tsukuyo casts her a pensive look. “How are you?”

“You’ve already asked that.”

 “I know. But you seem a bit... quiet.” _Tranquil_ is the more fitting choice, but Tsukuyo is gentle with her. 

Ayame stares, and then sighs.

*

(She doesn’t dream of him on his knees in that field, drenching his clothes in even darker colours while he bleeds dry and his arm painfully limp in her hand. Neither does she remember his attempts at final parting words, nor her refusal to accept them. Or the cold clasping and clawing at her, her replies jamming her throat until she is finally able to speak again and she did it did it did it did

In her dreams, he doesn’t transform into a cat, gaunt and lean and all long legs. His fur isn’t caked in blood. He doesn’t flinch away each time she tries to touch him, doesn’t run from her desperate hands and her eyes don’t prickle with the promise of big hot tears, not until she realizes that they are gambling for his life with a game of kick-the-can with Shigeshige’s head.

Instead, she dreams of past days, warm and bright and yellow, and a long-forgotten kiss.)

*

Her phone rings, and it’s work. Wakikaoru makes small talk for a while, makes inquiries of her well-being, and then comes to the issue.

„We’re short on kunai after... after that day. We placed a new bulk order but it somehow got lost apparently. And now the boss is arguing with the customer service over the phone for hours.”

“How did that even happen?”

“Wish I knew.” Ayame imagines Wakikaoru shaking her head at that. “But that’s how things are right now. We’re a sorry lot, the Shinobi 5. Can we lend your spares? We’ll have to do with our scraps until we get the new delivery. I can pick them up if you still need to rest.”

“I’ll see what I can do. I’m on leave for some more days.” She hesitates. “How is he...?”

Wakikaoru huffs a small chuckle. “He shouldn’t be up and running the business in his state, but the boss can’t sit tight.” Her voice is laced with empathy when she continues. “I understand him, though. Being alone with your thoughts can be tiresome.” She doesn’t have to add _especially not after what he’s done_. Ayame can hear it clearly, and both women remain silent for a moment, each engrossed in her own thoughts.

Ayame breaks the silence first. “You can come tomorrow morning. Thank you for your call. Take care.”

*

She pays him a visit the same evening.

“Sarutobi-san.” Zenzou is surprised to see her at his door.

“I was in the neighbourhood,” she says. “And I have cake.” She holds the bag in front of her like both a shield and an invitation card.

To her surprise, the house is clean. Another attempt at holding on to normal. Zenzou doesn’t need the crutch anymore either. But she sees the faint limp, and the hunched slope of his shoulders. It’s not necessary for her to see his eyes to be able to read him. She has known him all her life.

He sets out tea, and they settle at the table.

“Have you heard of our misfortunes?”

“Wakikaoru called, yes.”

He considers, for a moment. “Good.”

“I’ll help out, if I can.”

The talk is superficial, words rehashed and barely scraping at the surface as they dance around each other. The cake is too sweet and tastes of nothing ( _guilt shame remorse_ ). Ayame puts it down again soon, pushing it away. She folds her hands in her lap, and takes a breath.

“How are you doing?”

Zenzou’s mouth twists into a sardonic smile. “Applying Preparation H was easier before.”

She nods.

“I can’t sleep,” she offers. _Since that day_. It’s only half a lie. “Well, I do, but not for too long. I don’t dream, it’s restless.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” She holds her breath, realizing her choice of words too late.

“It’s getting late.” His hand rubs at the back of his neck. “Do you want to stay?”

She nods.

“I need to get up early, but you can sleep in if you want to.”

She nods.

Later, he lays out two futons and sleepwear for her. She decides to be bold, and taking the pillow with her lifts the blanket, just a little. Zenzou doesn’t protest, only inches away to make room for her. She crawls under the blanket. “We used to sleep like this as kids,” she says as she tucks her glasses away. He is warm and _there_ , and there’s something soothing in it.

“We did.”

Ayame props up on an elbow. “Aren’t you afraid I will attack you? You know, we’re all alone in your room. Might do things to you,” she teases.

Zenzou runs his hands over his face. He sighs, with too much pathos to be convincing. “You’ve shoved so many things up my ass, I’m not particularly concerned about that.”

She hears the grin in his voice, and puffs at that. But he is genuinely amused, and she feels accomplished in allowing him to be distracted, even if just for a little while. Ayame turns onto her stomach and pillows her chin on both of her hands.

“Heh. Do you remember, we kissed as kids once?” She can’t help the words falling from her lips, bubbling away. “Your father held a banquet at the school for some benefactor, and you stole sake from the kitchens. We where what, ten? It got to our heads pretty fast. One of the others double-dared you and I was the one sitting next to you.” These were simpler days. And even though all of them knew that they couldn’t stay in the sanctuary of the school forever, they have treasured the days on which they could simply be children - nothing more, and nothing less.

“I remember.”

His answer is surprising, and Ayame is grateful for the darkness when she feels her face grow warm. She freezes despite the blanket atop of her, and then the heat rushes back.

He remembered.

“Aaah, I was already then prone of doing stupid things.” His chuckle vibrated in his chest. “We never spoke of it again. I was too embarrassed to bring it up the next day. And then there never was another chance.”

_Do you wish there was_? sits at the tip of her tongue. “Yeah, it got lost,” she says instead. “That was such a busy time. Shigeshige was with us every day, and you taught him so much.” She doesn’t trip over the name, but it bears a bitter taste nonetheless.

It’s the closest they get to speak of the past events.

*

She wakes up alone. The other side is warm, and soft noises come from the kitchen. Ayame dresses quickly, and joins him.

“You didn’t wake me.”

“I thought I let you sleep.” He adds, “It’s still early,” but lays out breakfast for her as well.

“Thank you, for letting me stay.”

He knew about her appointment with Wakikaoru.

*

There’s no use for wondering why she remembers their childhood in brilliant colors just now ( _she knows the answer to this; another pop quiz passed with full marks_ ). It’s bothersome, the way she starts to notice the lack of him in vacant spaces. It stirs at other things too, well-hidden and carefully tucked away to be left in the past.

It grows and grows and grows, an itch that can’t be soothed.

*

A week later, Ayame starts to work out again.

The wound from the stab on her stomach is still impairing her. It’s going take some time for her muscles to recover from that blow, severed fibers growing back together, and her to move around as smooth as before.

In her backyard she begins with easy routine, light stretches to loosen stiff limbs. The restriction is similar to a muscle sore after hard work-out, when compartments from places that didn’t seem involved protest at every motion, and she soon recognizes her limits. She’s not as far as she hoped to be.

She opts for target practice instead, with some brand new kunai she’s got earlier (she did not need a bulk order). After leaving her donation with the Shinobi 5 she felt naked without the knowledge of the familiar weight. There are three straw puppets lined up, and she’s surprised how much she missed this, the thrill of it.

The back of her head prickles. Suddenly there’s a presence and the faintest crack of crumbling leaves. She doesn’t expect any visitors today. Disconcerted, she throws hastily, with too much force and a bolt of pain shoots through her body. Her legs give out under her and she goes down, senses blocked by black and white and pain.

When she’s able to focus again, Zenzou is leaning over her sitting form in worry, but gives her room to breathe the moment she shows signs of recognition. It all happened in seconds, really.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. Next time I’m going to stay at the front door. Are you okay?”

He surprised her, but she’s more surprised to see him here in the first place.

Ayame lifts her head to meet his eye when the realization of their position hits her. His hips are on the same level with her head. She stares, up, up, up high across the expanse of his chest until she at last reaches his face. Her lips part. It’s exciting, the way he towers over her. Her imagination takes over from here and paints a compelling picture: She is on her knees ( _perhaps with her arms behind her back in ropes, but let’s not start out with the big guns_ ) and his hands in her hair and her mouth around his

“Sarutobi-san.”

She snaps out of it. “I’m fine,” she assures him and uses the offered hand to get back up on her feet. “The injury is bothersome.” She adjusts her glasses, and stretches her torso tentatively until she hits the spot. It doesn’t take long for the sharp pang of pain to come - her upper body crumples with her arms around her. “Ouch.”

Zenzou is at her side again. His hand hovers over her back, hesitant, but ready to assists. “Don’t overdo it.”

For a moment, irritation sparks within her. Why does everyone tell her this? She’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself. “I won’t.”

“Still, be more careful. It could reopen.”

“I could tell you the same,” she retorts with a smile, to take the blow from her words. She would have to check on it later, Zenzou was right.

He grins impishly and bows his head to the side. “Guilty.” Then he’s back into his composed self. „Actually I’m here to ask for a favor.”

Ayame waits.

“I’m in need of one more person for surveillance. Just trailing, absolutely no combat. If you want to freelance for us.” He hides his hands in the pockets of his long coat and points with his chin at her backyard, “It would be an opportunity for you to get out.”

This sounds exactly like something that she needed. “I want to.”

He nods, pleased. “I’ll give you the details when we’re ready.”

Later, when she’s alone again, she checks on the wound. It did not open up. Still, she decides to listen to her body and take it slow. There’s no use to force it.

*

There is something wrong with her.

His face slips into her day-dreams and fantasies gradually, ever since her mind gifted her with _that_ image. White hair turns brown, and the arms that hold her shrink at the edges into someone more wiry.

The first time, just with her hands between her legs, it takes her completely unaware and it’s disturbing enough for her to drop everything. She laughed then, at the ridiculousness of it, the audacity of it, at - at - at _Zenzou_.

She chose to ignore it, will it away. After some time, her resistance began to fade - it was too much of a hassle.

Why _now_?

*

The case goes like this: An amanto politician with too much money and too much time on his hands woes a petty starlet from the music business, but stricken with paranoia he fears for either a conspiracy or a scam or it’s just plain old jealousy and he’s keen to see proof.

The girl walks her lap dog once a week in a near park, and they’ve got a lead that it might be a meeting point with a contact person.

 

The plan: Pose as a couple enjoying the day.

Ayame’s role: Play the girlfriend.

Pros: Easier access to hearing distance.

Cons: This is exactly not what she needed in her state of mind.

“That’s her?” Ayame peels away from the hug and from the corner of her eye follows the target.

Zenzou barely moves his lips when he confirms. “Positive. Let’s follow in safe distance.” To the rest of the world he beams at his girlfriend and makes to hold her hand, entwining fingers.

He wears civil attire, consisting of jeans and a black t-shirt with some manga series logo that stress his lean built, the contrast of his narrow hips and wide shoulders. It makes her breath catch, just a little, because she has hardly seen him out in modern clothing. Unbidden, fragments of her fantasies push to the front ( _what a pretty sight, his head between her legs_ ), and a shiver runs down her spine.

Protocol dictates a slow stroll, and Ayame is thankful that she just can stare ahead. His hand is warm and her fingertips prickle. This is not the first time for her on such an operation, although definitely a first with confusing feelings. Still, she’s a pro, one of the best, but she’s glad that she picked the large summer hat to go with her dress, the one with the wide flap that’s easy to hide behind.

His voice reaches her, and she abandons her thoughts. “What? Sorry, I was... thinking.”

“I said, you look good.”

Ayame turns her head, but he’s focused on the starlet in front of them. “Thank you.” Right, they should probably make conversation. “You’re not half-bad either.”

“Eh? What’s that supposed to mean?”

She sticks her tongue out. “The clothes are nice, but really, the shirt? Do you think a high-maintenance girl like me would go out with someone who’s still wears that?”

He tilts his head. “Wha --- “

“Take your role more serious, it could be the reason to end up compromised,” she teases in hushed voices and loops her arms around his stomach. Zenzou huffs at that, and drapes one arm around her shoulder. His cologne gets to her head, distracting. This is nice. They proceed to trail behind the girl in a half hug at leisure pace.

It almost feels real.

“So, what do you think is the bottom line of this?”

“Probably the money. Have you seen him?”

Zenzou laughs. “She probably has to think of her career. It’s currently not going anywhere.” He sighs. “We too work for his money.”

Being a shinobi was hard in this economy.

Their target reaches the central plaza, and idly sits down on a bench by the main route. If there was any meeting between conspirators, it would be soon. Ayame takes a moment to fidget with her shoe while Zenzou secures the place - every step a _been there done that_ , and they both know their tasks. She keeps balance by leaning on one of Zenzou’s forearms. It is wiry and of compelling hardness, all sinews and hard shadows. She tries to not drift off into her imagination, with the job at hand to focus at.

“Suspect approaching at 3 o’clock,” she informs as she straightens up. The man was listed in the files, and while this promised to turn into a win, it’s too soon to let it get to her head.

“Positive.”  
  
Everything went down fast from here. The guy walked past the target’s bench, completely ignoring her, but before there was time for disappointment to settle in the girl’s dog got lose. Still on the leash it raced in the same direction, the guy managed to catch it, the girl approached overjoyed. Followed by the exchange of the leash and a few words of gratitude, a pat for the dog. They split up and went their way.

*

“So?”

“It’s all there.”

Zenzou hums low in his throat, satisfied with the outcome.

They are still in the park, making their way back on a different route, still in their roles. The couple checking on the pictures they took of themselves - this, too, feels almost real. Ayame starts to wonder where she draws her calm from, when she’s ready to burst at every moment. He is too close for comfort, at least now. Before, this would have been a stroll in the park ( _literally_ ), but now that there’s... something she doesn’t want to name blooming, it complicates things by a great deal.

The mission is a success though, all documented. Along with the leash a small device changed hands to quickly disappear into a pocket. They’d have to look further into this, but it’s a confirmation. Poor amanto politician.

For all her troubles Ayame is grateful. She did need to slowly get back to work.

Something catches her eye when she’s restoring the camera into her bag. The suspect comes at their direction, turning onto their path at the intersection. Her mind races. While the chances that he’ll memorize their faces are small - just another couple - she doesn’t want to risk it.

She looks up at Zenzou and reads the same thoughts in his face. She inhales once, and dons a pleased face, softly laughing at a joke Zenzou never told. Ayame leans into him, places a hand at his neck and brings their faces together, just _so_ , with her wide hat shielding them from the man.

They don’t kiss. But his breath is hot on her skin while he keeps her gaze, straining to listen for footsteps, and his hands sneak up to rest on her hips. She shivers. He pulls her closer into him and Ayame works hard to not give in. His body is hard and lean and warm and suddenly she thinks of the things she has done with and to him in her mind and _suddenly_ she is very hot and very bothered.

She wishes the creeping blush away, and perhaps succeeds.

When she looks up again after a very long second, she finds herself stared at. For the first time in a long while she’s troubled by his fringe. The fact that she’s unable to see his eyes at this instant unnerves her, not sure what to make of this. He’s at advantage here, probably reading the glimmer in her eyes the only right way.

The sound of receding steps registers with her, but that has lost its importance.

Zenzou swallows and licks his lips. It’s the only hint before he closes the remaining space between them.

They kiss.

*

Lately, she sleeps all the night.

*

She drags Tsukuyo out for drinks two days later, discarding all regards for personal safety. She has not heard from Zenzou since the surveillance, not even for mission evaluation, and there is too much going on in her head. Ayame has reached a point at which she came to terms with death by drunkenly thrown furniture.

With a steady supply of colorful beverages adorned with tiny, sparkly umbrellas Ayame lets her in on the incident in minute detail, for at least six times this evening, and the last recital of the tale of unprofessional behavior differs vastly from the first in levels of elaboration. Tsukuyo listens patiently. It’s not about leading a love rival onto a different track, it’s support for a friend and she is gladly willing to lend her ear and shoulder, and liver probably as well at this rate. Oh the irony. She has already protested her competence - or lack thereof - in love affairs, clearly making her not the best-suited candidate to turn to for guidance. Even so the trust and amity placed in her warm her. After mulling over Ayame’s words for some while, Tsukuyo comes up with the big question: “Isn’t he, like, your boss, though?”

Ayame squints her eyes at this. “Are you implying that people will talk behind my back and whisper that I only got the job offer and raise just because I spread my legs for the boss and they will cough ‘bitch’ whenever I pass them in the hall and my shoes will be filled with pins by jealous co-workers on a regular basis...?” Actually, this sounds thrilling...

“No.”

“Oh.”

Tsukuyo guides her back into her seat by her elbow. “I mean, there’s an imbalance.”

Ayame tilts her head, and her fingertips run over the stem of her cocktail glass. “Technically, kinda. But after Oniwabanshuu we’re in different organizations.” She pauses before she continues, “I will always come when he’s calling.” Her loyalty to her former school is unyielding.

 “I don’t see any obstacles in this. There’s something in the air. But do you return his... hypothetical feelings?”

Ayame had asked herself this question before, investigating and dissecting her tumbling thoughts thoroughly. The results varied, but they come down to the consensus of: “Probably. I don’t know.”

Tsukuyo leans back, exhales. She shrugs. “At least he’s real.”

“Oi, don’t talk trash about Pixelmon.”

*

She’s tipsy but nearly not drunk enough for hallucinations, so that’s definitely Zenzou in front of her house. It’s odd how he’s seeking her out, despite the way he has clawed for every opportunity for isolation before.

It’s even more strange how happy she is to see him, and her former misery is delegated to the backseat. She waves from afar and there’s a giddy sway in her step. She manages not to trip and reaches her front door. “Hi.”

Ayame tries to focus on him and Zenzou steadies her by her elbow. “I just finished my delivery job.” That wasn’t a lie, judging by the pizza box in his other hand. “But maybe it’s better to come around tomorrow.”

“No,” she protests with her brow in furrows. “Why let the pizza go to waste?”

He shakes his head, but gives in.

She lets them in on the first try, and after she gets rid of her boots Zenzou guides her to the low table in the living room, peeling her clingy hands away from him. After she’s seated properly on the floor he goes to prepare two glasses of water and rejoins her at the table.

Ayame already started to eat, and asks between bites, “What brings you here?”

“Payday, and gratitude. You helped us a great deal.” He lets her in on the mission’s aftermath, that their evidence was validated by other trails and of connections to a bigger organization trying to scam the amanto out of his money. There’s still need for data before they can act on it, but the Shinobi 5 are gearing up. The other good news are that his kunai order at last reached destination, but she wouldn’t get her weapons back so he settles to pay her for them.

Ayame listens (and at one point goes off on a tangent on how the amanto’s love is lost on that girl and she knows of much better uses to put his money to), pleased with the new information. Coated in the bliss of food and good humor she pillows her head on her hand, elbow propped on the table. Slowly, she sobers up.

She has missed this, the time spent and easy talk with a friend; with him. The more she’s happy that they’re back at restoring bridges, and she relishes in the moment. Until she thinks that he’s no longer just a friend, not after he invaded her mind in such manners.

It clashes with her feelings for Gintoki ( _when_ did she stalk him for the last time? She can’t even remember), and that’s the most confusing part, the fact that Zenzou is about to occupy a bigger space in her head than Gintoki.

Another thought springs to her mind, and she eyes Zenzou, appraising how this doesn’t seem to affect him. He’s his usual composed self, and no one has mentioned the kiss the whole evening now that she thinks of it. Her eyes flick to his mouth.

Her stomach drops, just a little bit.

Zenzou leans forward, towards her, and props his arms on the table. “Something on my face?”

Ayame shakes her head, chin still in her hand. “I’m just thinking.”

“What about?”

“I’m thinking, that I really want to kiss you.”

His breath hitches, and by the way his throat bobs he must be down memory lane to the covert operation too. _Good. Serves him well_. In a distant corner of her mind she wonders what he looks like with desire in his eyes, and resents his hair for once more.

He leans in further, and while watching her catches a long strand of her hair between his fingers. A gentle tug. His voice is almost down to a purr. “Are you going to?”

She follows. “Yes.”

Their lips meet, and it’s not a rehash. This is different, this is letting go and giving in. The first kiss is delicate, eyes closed, both of them savoring the moment of _finally_. He buries his hand in her hair, resting low on her neck as he draws her even closer. The second follows, and he opens his mouth for her when her tongue licks at his lips. The edge of the table between them presses into her thighs, and Zenzou’s beard scratches at her chin, and he is so _not_ Gintoki - a thought that she tries to bury within the sensation of this.

Her head swims, and she laughs, and he kisses her again.

They break apart. She sinks back onto her feet, dizzy, happy, lips red and flushed face. On the other side, Zenzou looks contented, and a tension she didn’t notice before is gone from his shoulders. Perhaps she’s not that good in reading him as she thought to be, but it’s not her fault that he shields himself from the world. Ayame leans forward once more. “It’s unfair that this,” she lightly runs over his fringe with a finger, “is blocking me out.”

He considers, head tilted. “This is indeed bothersome.” He lifts a hand.

Is he...? _Stop_. Her breath catches. This is going too fast, and her heart thumps right in her throat.

“Wait!” Hastily, Ayame raises her hands to his face and places them atop his bangs. Zenzou halts and the question sits between them, although he doesn’t make any attempts to speak.

This is intimate, too intimate, and suddenly overwhelming in light of the consequences. Him letting her in on this. Allowing her to see his eyes.

“I-I am not sure if I am ready,” she says.

Zenzou breathes, once, twice, and processes her words. Then he lays his hands on her wrists and drags them gently down until they rest just below his scarf ( _his heartbeat drumming violently in his chest - her heartbeat? She can’t tell anymore_ ) _._ “I understand,” Zenzou says. He dips his head to place a kiss on her knuckles, his breath ghosting over her skin, and withdraws from her.

Ayame only stares, frozen. There is too much space in front of her, and she already misses his warmth. _You don’t understand_ runs through her mind. She’s not in position to call him back and plead for him to stay.

Zenzou nods one last time to acknowledge his leaving, and then he’s gone.

He offered himself to her, and she refused him.

*

“Stupid... Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Ayame rolls around on her floor with her body pillow in her arms. It’s been a day since Zenzou’s visit, and frustration and her mind let her grow restless by making her revive every embarrassing second of their past conversations and her questionable decision making. With a sigh she buries her face in Gin-san, unwittingly recalling the speed of Zenzou’s heartbeat and the defeat in his voice. He did not understand. At all.

She had the worst timing of being unsure of her feelings. But she feels like she owes Zenzou to step into the ring with a clear head. And right now, she’s confused. She loves him, but she also loves Gintoki, doesn’t she? And anyway, doesn’t _he_ claim to like ugly women?

She groans wordless agony.

She kisses him, but right after asking for it refuses to be let in further.

Ayame rolls over on her other side, switching the shoulder she’s laying on.

She has turned down a stray cat right after its display of affection. The thing she never has really been sure of, and probably never believed to be shown. She fluked it.

This was stupid.

She kicks at the pillow and hurls it across her room, where it bounces back from the wall and comes to rest with Gin’s drawn-on face to the floor. A second later she’s on her feet and presses it to her body all over again, hooking her legs firmly around it. “I am sorry, Gin-san!”

She’s in dire need of some indulgences but going out to see the real Gintoki was not the right thing. Her belly already is twisting itself in knots, and the ache of longing drives her mind to places, fueled by the memory of the events from the last couple of days all the more.

Wakikaoru has been right. Being alone with your thoughts is indeed tiresome.

Irritated, Ayame plops onto her back with the pillow on top of her and straining her neck, lets her gaze wander around her inverted room. It catches on the bag she’s received from Hinowa.

Maybe it is time to try its contents out.

*

“Yo, mop-head.”

Zenzou lifts his eyes from the JUMP in his hands (realizing too late that he responded to _that_ nickname) and behind his fringe, glares at Gintoki. His mood has dropped several floors just now, and it hasn’t been the best from the moment he got out of his bed.

Wordlessly, he hands him the magazine and then kicks at his shin. “Bastard,” he growls and exits the convenience store.

“What the... What was that even for?!”

*

_Love truly must be a beautiful thing at that age_ , she thinks. She’s on stake-out (a different case, for Shimatsuya) and observes her target from her location at the rooftop when she spots Kagura and that blond boy from the Shinsengumi ( _Shinichi_? _No, that doesn’t ring the bell_ ) down on the street. They argue and fight and make quite the ruckus. She follows their trail of destruction through the binoculars for a while until they are out of sight, and sighs once more. _Leave it to the youngsters to be carefree_.

She feels old all of a sudden, so she makes to quickly shoo the thought away.

One day Kagura will be a very happy girl, if they ever manage to get past this stage. Give them some time. And then... and then Ayame would be a cool big sister and answer all of Kagura’s questions regarding BDSM. That boy already was a master sadist, she could tell that from that one time he tied her up, and she’s a bit envious of Kagura. It’s hard to come by of one of such skills. If the girl ever discovers to be into that, she’s in very effective hands. Besides, it’s obvious that he carries a torch for her.

She hopes it will take some more years until her assistance is needed, though.

*

There’s dust in her hiding place, and Ayame reads that as an insult. Sure, she hasn’t been in the closet at Yorozuya’s for weeks, but that’s no reason to get sloppy at hospitality. Shinpachi could at least clean the place properly.

After weeks, she decided that it was time to do some stalking. She wanted to see Gintoki and relish in the sight of him, recharge her batteries and maybe hopefully catch some exciting sights. This had nothing to do with her frustration, and it definitely didn’t take her so long to return because she was falling for

She sighs. Her body is stiff from lack of movement, crammed into the closet for hours, and starts to suspect the Yorozuya to be out on a job.

This is a waste of her free day.

Waiting, she can’t help thinking.

Gin was special, the way he draws people to him. It was love at first sight, and it was real, at least for her. Over the years this became the convenient option. There is routine to it, the constant rejection a well-practiced dance, and in it lays safety. She knows what she’s bargaining for. There was no one else for her anyways. When she loves, she loves whole-heartedly.

So why Zenzou?

She knows him from childhood, every misdeed and scraped knee, and maybe she had a crush on him during their teenage years (because he was her best friend and confidant and they’ve spent all those years together), but she never acted upon it. He was her friend and she didn’t want to put that on the line. Her feelings dropped to a background noise, resurfacing every now and then but they were safe, manageable and tucked away easily. Besides, they were busy, with duty, with protecting what they have been raised to protect.

So why now?

Some things _have_ changed.

If she’s honest with herself she wants to, she wants further change and it’s terrifying, the promise of the new, unknown.

She almost lost him on a sunny day in a field of rice.

Ayame shifts. Her knees crack.

She needs support.

*

She runs into the trio on the stairs to the apartment, and just waves her wordless good-byes in passing.

*

“I am on patrol,” Tsukuyo presses between her teeth for not the first time during this conversation.

Ayame chooses to ignore that for not the first time as well. It’s not like it’s a busy day, and Tsukuyo can spare her five minutes at least. And not for the first time this day she asks, “What should I do, Tsukki?” She drawls her words in an anguished howl. Currently, lying face-down on the rooftop for the rest of her life is the most tempting option.

Tsukuyo watches her and takes a drag from her pipe. Slowly exhaling, she searches for the right words. Ayame’s... delicate state of mind could send her flying into another round of shrill fits with the wrong combination.

“It’s not like he gave you a written outline on his feelings, so all you can do is second-guess,” Tsukuyo starts and the sound of her voice makes Ayame stop wriggling. “I don’t know him well. Or at all, really. And again, I don’t know a lot about these things. But I think... I think the most important thing is so be honest to yourself.” A small blush finds its way onto her cheeks, but she stares ahead into Yoshiwara’s skyline with sincerity in her shoulders, smoke rising from her pipe in lazy curls. “Listen to what your heart tells you. He loves you, and from what I see you love him too. Just... talk it out, be honest with what you want from each other. He can’t resent you for that.”

Tsukuyo doesn’t tell her that she has the gist of her speech from _Kimi no Todoke_.

Ayame stands up, stretches and pats on her clothes to remove dust. “You are right. I should set that right.” She eyes Tsukuyo for a moment with a finger to her chin, before she turns to leave. “You should take your own advice some day. Good luck with Gin-san.”

“Wha---!?”

*

She shouldn’t be here. She should have waited in front of the gate, like other people do, but she went ahead (apparently a trait they share) and entered his house to wait for his return inside. That part went over smoothly. It all went down when she felt his presence and heard sound and _panicked_ , muscle memory taking over her body and directing her into the next best hiding place.

Maybe he would not notice her.

“Sarutobi-san.”

He noticed her.

His voice hovers above her. Zenzou looks down into the huge vase she is hiding in. “What are you doing in there?”

“I came to apologize,” she says, standing up.

He retreats, wary. She can see the hurt in him, and it pains her to see him isolate again, trying to cut her off the best he can until he’s  over her rejection.

She takes a deep breath - there’s no use to beat around the bush. The truth, plain and genuine.

“I’m sorry for the last time. I was frightened. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I love you.”

He lets her words settle in, for a long agonizing moment. There is hesitation, doubt, and she can’t blame him for that. “What about that stupid samurai?” His shoulders relax, but he crosses his arms all the same. There is discovery in his stance, a new confidence that he needs confirmed. “Are you stalking me, Sarutobi-san?”

“N-no?”

His jaw is firmly set, and she can see it work. His voice drops to a low pitch when he asks, “Do you wish to stalk me?”

It goes straight to her knees, and she’s laboring to pull herself together. Talk about unfair. “No. Yes. I don’t know.”

“Wait.” She raises her hands in front of her, to build a barrier and get a hold of her thoughts. “I didn’t want to half-ass this, but with all my efforts I lost my friend and I’m done with losing friends for a long time. I am sorry. There _is_ something for Gintoki and I can’t help it. I can’t switch it off with just a snap of my fingers. But I know that you’re the... the...” With all that out, her taut nerves snap lose and her head suddenly spins and swims. She scrambles for the point of her speech, embarrassment racing through her veins. “Even Vegeta settles down eventually!”

There’s silence. Then he bursts out in a laugh at her choice of argument and the intensity she brings it forward.

She pouts at his insolence, and before he finds the chance to compose himself Ayame places her hands on his cheeks and pulls him into a kiss. “I like you, you fool.”

He wraps his arms around her. “Ok. But just so we’re clear, no stalking.” He pecks another kiss to her lips. “This is real, and you don’t have to do that to see me.”

“Or what...?”

Zenzou sighs in defeat. “There is no ‘or what’, because you’d probably enjoy that too.”

She’s still in the vase.

*

Later, when the marks had vanished with each passing day and normal slowly became the normal from before, one day he visits with a bottle of sake.

They drink, to their past, to the people they’ve lost, to the future.

She feels bold, with courage in her veins. “Say... Why didn’t you ever act upon it before?”

“When nothing is offered, the stray cat will move on,” he says solemnly.

She rolls her eyes. “Really? You can’t go around all your life by cat-metaphors. Don’t you grow tired of them?”

He laughs. “It’s not like I had a real chance, right?”

She nods, smiling. She knows.

“With that stupid samurai’s butt filling your head. I decided to sit back and cheer from the sidelines on your happiness. You never had eyes for me.”

She nods.

“And then things turned crazy. But you know... I was so scared when I saw you laying in your own blood, and all I could think of was how I failed everything that was important to me. How I failed duty. My friend. You. How could I have hoped for such blessings when I didn’t deserve any of it?”

She takes his hand, just squeezes gently.

“You deserve all of them,” she whispers.

His gaze ghosts over her breasts and stills on the scar on her stomach. The corners of his mouth flinch, and after a moment, he presses the palm of her hand to his lips. His kisses taste of unspoken apologies and gratefulness, and she lets him, accepts them all. He carries the same scars (no, not the _same_ , Ayame thinks, his scars run differently) and they’ve never really talked about _that_ day.

*

He sits hunched on the veranda, absorbed in reading, and doesn’t move when she approaches. She knows that he knows that she’s there, with their honed senses alert even in idle stand-by. Ayame slides down on her knees behind him and leans into him, pressing her body to the curve of his back. “I know something better to do than reading JUMP,” she purrs to his ear as she wraps her arms around his shoulders.

“It’s not JUMP.”

She’s seen it too by now. He’s reading one of her SM-magazines.

Zenzou works his jaw and his throat bobs as he swallows. “I thought I could read up a thing or two. Since that’s what you like.” Aside from that he’s calm beneath her. He leans back to melt into her embrace, slightly tipping his head back to rest on her shoulder. “Maybe give it a try.”

“Is that so?” Her initial surprise turns into a smirk. Warmth pools low in her belly. The magazine wasn’t left on purpose, even though she did start to make plans on how to touch on the subject of her more special bedroom preferences and his stance on them. But that has been for the near future, and she hums low in her throat. Her head swims with drunk fuzziness. Ayame places a kiss on his jaw, and runs her hand from his shoulder across his chest down to rest it on his thigh, just below where it connects to the hip. “Good thing you’re asking. I can teach you a thing or two myself.”


End file.
